


All the Bard's Horses And All the Bard's Men (Couldn't Put Eskel Back Together Again)

by nitrogen_and_crisis



Series: Witcher, Bard, and Goat [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eskel Needs a Hug (The Witcher), Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Eskel, M/M, No one is having a fun time, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitrogen_and_crisis/pseuds/nitrogen_and_crisis
Summary: Things go sideways for Eskel when he takes on a simple nekker contract and it's up to Jaskier to try to pick up the pieces. Well, it would be up to Jaskier if Eskel would tell him what happened.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher, Bard, and Goat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799704
Comments: 30
Kudos: 205





	All the Bard's Horses And All the Bard's Men (Couldn't Put Eskel Back Together Again)

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not qualified to write this, but I stumbled across the idea while rummaging through the internet for Eskel/Jaskier fics, and it refuse to leave me alone, so here we are. Full disclosure, I haven't read the books (yet). I have at least seen the show and I'm currently playing through the Witcher 3, so there's that. Thanks to my friend Charlie for beta reading for me.

The contract was supposed to be straightforward. He’d been hired to get rid of three or so nekkers that had been plaguing a bridge near the town and disrupting trade. The pay wasn’t great, but Eskel needed the money, especially because of his new travel companion.  
  
Eskel had found Jaskier shortly after he’d been apparently left by Geralt. Jaskier hadn’t told him much, save for that Geralt had just gotten sick of him, citing not wanting to hurt Eskel and Geralt’s relationship. He’d agreed to travel with Eskel for a while when he’d offered and Eskel was determined to make Jaskier’s travels with him pleasant for as long as he stayed. That being said, buying decent food and paying for inns more often was expensive, so Eskel tried to cut back on spending for himself and took on more contracts. Hence, the nekker contract.

Eskel left Jaskier playing for a crowd at the inn in the late afternoon. Jaskier promised him that when he got back from his hunt, he would have made enough coin to have a hot bath waiting for Eskel when he got back. Eskel felt a twinge of guilt at this, but selfishly didn’t protest. His runaway heart likes it when Jaskier does things for him, no matter how hard he tries to squish the instinct down.

The first warning sign really should have been the fact that, instead of 3 or four nekkers, there was a full ten. It’s one thing to be off by one or two nekkers, but to be off by seven, that’s intentional.

It takes Eskel a dangerous amount of blizzard and swallow and several wounds to the legs and torso to kill all of them. In the end he’s left with a pile of nekker bodies, a whole bunch of cleaning to do, and the feeling of mild wooziness. He still has to collect on the contract, however, so he takes the trophies he needs to prove his success and heads back into town.

The second warning sign should have been the sneer on the mayor’s face when Eskel brings him the proof of a completed contract and attempts to ask for more coin for the extra nekkers, and the sheer number of guards and associates he has in the room with him.

“We can certainly negotiate for your extra coin. I’d _hate_ for people to say we were bad employers,” the mayor simpers, saccharine insincerity dripping from every word. “But first, let us have a drink!” It’s a declaration, not an offer. A goblet of clear liquid is thrust at Eskel.

It doesn’t smell of anything, even with his heightened witcher sense, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything in there. Every instinct in Eskel’s body is screaming at him not to drink, but he looks around the room at all the armed guards and thinks of Jaskier, who deserves to sleep on a soft bed and not be run out of town by association, and drinks.

Whatever was in the drink kicks in almost immediately (of course there was something, he knew there was something) and the world goes hazy. Somewhere along the way his face ends up pressed to the carpet. Whether he fell or got shoved is a mystery to him.

“I guess that witch was right about it being strong enough to take even a Witcher down,” a voice he can’t identify says, and then he’s being manhandled into a different room.

He tries to fight them off, but his limbs are heavy and useless. Whoever is carrying him laughs at his attempts.

“At least Jaskier won’t die with me,” Eskel thinks rather nonsensically as he’s tossed onto the floor. He attempts to brace for… something. Getting stabbed, run through, or bludgeoned to death maybe. None of these things happen.

Instead, several someones are unlacing some things. There is some shuffling, and then someone’s hands are at the ties to his pants. Only when they’re in a puddle around his knees does he really realize what’s happening to him, what’s about to happen to him. He tries to beg them to stop, to say no, to fight it, to do _anything at all_ , but his body won’t cooperate. And then it doesn’t really matter if he could speak either way because someone is forcing their way into his mouth while someone else forces themselves into his other end and it hurts and he can’t breathe properly and he just wants it to _stop_ but it doesn’t. The men in the room take turns on him, each taking their fill while they make degrading remarks. The mayor says something about witchers not being so high and mighty now. And then it’s all over and they’re dropping him on the floor once more. The last thought to cross his mind before he passes out is “Jaskier is going to think I’m disgusting.”

Eskel wakes several hours later in the stables covered in other people’s bodily fluids. Some of the wounds from the nekkers burn and itch in a way that makes him think they might be infected. He’s also got some new bruises that he doesn’t quite remember acquiring and an ache that’s settled in his right side. 

Eskel pulls himself out of the hay slowly, ignoring the shooting pain through his backside that the movement triggers, and attempts to remove some of the fluids from his armor with the water in the trough. He can’t get it clean right now, but he might be able to make it less noticeable. He hasn’t cried since the trials, he isn’t about to start again now.

Night has set in by the time Eskel makes his way back to the inn where he and Jaskier are staying. Jaskier’s performance is in full swing, and Eskel slides into a spot at the very back of the room. Some amount of time later (how much, Eskel’s not sure) Jaskier joins him at his table.  
“How was the hunt then?” Jaskier asks rather pointedly, fishing for a good story. Eskel offers a shrug in response.

“Come on! Give me at least three words. I can’t write any songs about you if I don’t have material to work with.”

“It was…” Eskel pauses, casting around for words that wouldn’t reveal too much. “...fine. There were, ah, more nekkers than the mayor said there would be, but it wasn’t— there weren’t too many. It was fine.”

“I hope you got him to pay extra then,” Jaskier half-jokes. Eskel stiffens involuntarily at the mention of pay. He doesn’t actually have anything to show for his hunt and his story will far apart pretty fast if Jaskier decides to continue on this topic of conversation.

“Well,” Jaskier announces, smacking his hands together, “As fascinating as your fine time with the nekkers sounds, I think your bath is finally ready.”

“I— Thanks.”

Jaskier watches Eskel’s retreating back with concern. He’s not exactly what would be defined as talkative, and if he was Geralt his responses tonight would have been considered positively verbose, but Eskel usually had more to say. He’d join in when Jaskier talked, even if the conversation was mostly just Jaskier rambling, and Eskel was usually willing to tell Jaskier about his hunts, even if they weren’t the most detailed or expertly told. Not only that, but he’d stiffened when Jaskier had mentioned payment and appeared to have developed a limp. Jaskier resolved to ask him about it later.

Upstairs, Eskel is doing his best to take a bath without really looking at his body. He just wants to feel _clean_ , to wash it all off of himself, but after thirty minutes of scrubbing all he has to show for it is raw skin and the taste of bile at the back of his throat. He is _not_ going to cry, and he’s certainly not going to tell Jaskier. Eskel doesn’t want to think about the disgusted look that would cross his face, the way he’d try to let Eskel down gently when he tells him he’s leaving to find a better travel companion, because Jaskier is too nice for his own good. He hasn’t flinched at the scars that mar his face, hasn’t ever smelled of fear around him, but everyone has a limit, even Jaskier.

By the time Eskel pulls himself from the cold bath water, most of his injuries have healed enough that they won’t need medical attention. The only thing that he ends up having to tend to is a large gash on his calf, which needs stitches. It isn’t until after he’s finished the neat rows of stitches that he catches sight of the bruise in the grimy mirror. It’s massive, taking up most of the right side of his ribcage in an awful shade of black and green and it’s sore to the touch. There’s no way he can hide this from Jaskier.

They’ve been sharing beds at inns recently to save money, and Eskel usually sleeps in only his braies, and any change in pattern would probably make Jaskier suspicious, and he really can’t tell Jaskier, and, and, and—

And Jaskier is coming up the stairs.

Before Eskel can come up with a reasonable excuse or even move to put on a shirt, Jaskier is skipping cheerfully into the room, humming softly, only to freeze mid-step upon seeing Eskel’s bruise.

“Eskel, I thought you said your hunt was fine.” His voice is unbearably soft and Eskel almost falls apart right then and there.

“It... was. I just, I hit a tree. Badly.” The excuse sounds flimsy, even as it leaves his lips.

“Eskel…” Jaskier steps gently towards him, like he’s some soft wounded animal in need of assistance and not a hulking monster of a man. On instinct Eskel steps back, attempts to cover the scars on his face, as if that would help somehow. Like maybe Jaskier would stay if Eskel was less of an eyesore.

“Eskel, what happened?” Jaskier tries again, reaching out slowly and speaking as though Eskel is something breakable. And maybe he is. Witchers aren’t supposed to be breakable, but that fact doesn’t seem to be helping any because Jaskier’s face is swimming a little and it only occurs to him that he’s crying when Jaskier starts guiding him gently towards the bed.

“Alright, come on,” Jaskier murmurs, guiding Eskel gently beneath the covers. “It’s alright, come here.”

Eskel remains stiff as Jaskier gently worms his way over to him. He reaches out again, running his hands gently through Eskel’s hair. He talks quietly of this and that until Eskel slowly relaxes into him, until his face is pressed into Jaskier’s shoulder with Jaskier’s arms wrapped around him.

“Do you think you can tell me what happened now?” Jaskier asks, some time later. And Eskel still doesn’t want to but he owes Jaskier this much. Jaskier, who is still holding him like he’s something precious, something that matters, and who doesn’t know how repulsive Eskel is.

“After, after the hunt, the nekkers. There were ten. That should have, I should have… And when I went to collect the pay the mayor had guards and he gave me something to drink and I knew it had something in it but I drank it anyways and then I, and then they—” Eskel gropes for the words he needs. He doesn’t know how to say what he is trying to say, what he _needs_ to say.

“Did they hurt you?” Jaskier’s voice has taken on a sharp, dangerous edge, but he’s still holding Eskel to his chest, albeit a little tighter than before.

“No, they didn’t— I mean, I think they dropped me a couple of times but it wasn’t— I can handle that.”

“Eskel, did they—” And here even Jaskier hesitates to say it. “Did they take advantage of you?” Eskel flinches against Jaskier’s chest, and that’s all the confirmation Jaskier needs.

Eskel waits against Jaskier’s chest to be insulted, shoved away, left behind, but nothing comes. Jaskier just pulls him tighter, letting out a quiet, “Oh, Eskel…” And maybe tomorrow Eskel will wonder why Jaskier didn’t push him away, order him out, but for now he’s just tired, tired and relieved, and he falls asleep curled up in Jaskier’s arms to the sound of Jaskier’s quiet humming.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I'm probably gonna make this a series. So stay tuned if you want to see Jaskier murder some people maybe.


End file.
